


Clamour

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 22:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis doesn’t have Ignis’ discretion.





	Clamour

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Noctis is used to taking his pleasure in a soundproofed room, not tents and cheap motels. even if someone did overhear, who’s gonna call out the prince ever in his life? He doesn’t realize how LOUD he is, until he gets called out. +maybe attempt at noise control via pillow, gag or hand on mouth” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9721995#cmt9721995).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They can barely afford four rooms at the cheap motel in the corner of the tiny rest stop, but Gladiolus pushes for those extra walls. Prompto agrees, blushing strangely hot, and Ignis, for once, doesn’t argue over the extra expense. Noctis is tired enough that he could fall asleep anywhere, even though he’s spent half the day dozing off in the backseat of the Regalia. But a private hotel room is definitely the better option. There’re certain things he needs to do to help him get a _proper_ sleep, and those things can’t happen in a car full of his friends.

Wandering down the poorly lit hall, Gladiolus and Prompto are the first to push into their rooms. When Noctis picks the next one, Ignis places a hand on his shoulder. Noctis glances back, already muffling a yawn. Ignis’ aristocratic features are as flushed as Prompto was when Gladiolus insisted they needed thicker walls. Whatever’s embarrassing Ignis, he hides it a little better—or maybe Noctis is just too sleepy to read him. Tight lipped and carefully composed, Ignis thrusts a small gift box into Noctis’ hands. Noctis takes it with a flicker of surprise, and Ignis pushes his glasses higher up his nose before murmuring, “I had thought... well, you’ll have to forgive my presumption, Noct.” Noctis lifts a brow, but Ignis doesn’t explain any further. He stiffly dips into a shallow, semi-bow, like they’re back in the palace on official business instead of two friends on a never-ending road trip.

Noctis grunts, “Thanks,” and just like that, Ignis is swiftly disappearing into the room next door. His face lingers in Noctis’ mind afterwards, somewhat troubled and flushed for it, irises blown wide and lashes heavy. It might’ve been Noctis’ imagination, but his voice sounded almost husky. Noctis can still feel the lingering touch of Ignis’ faux-leather driving gloves from when he’d placed his present in Noctis’ hands. 

Noctis replays the image over and over as he retires into his chosen room. The place is tiny, battered, the wallpaper peeling and the window so grimy that it hardly needs any curtains. Noctis doesn’t bother flicking on the light switch. He just beelines for the bed. Ignis’ present is set unceremoniously on the nightstand—he’ll open it first thing in the morning. First, he has to sleep. Or second. _First_ , he has to truly tire himself out.

Noctis kicks out of his shoes but doesn’t bother with the rest. The extra layer of his clothes helps bolster the thin blankets of the lumpy bed, and he squirms underneath them until he’s curled up enough to feel nice and toasty. Only then does he unbuckle his pants. He lifts his other hand to spit into his palm, then slips below his underwear, running down through the coarse hair above his base and straight along his flaccid shaft. It doesn’t stay limp long. He closes his eyes and pictures his advisor, rosy cheeked and out of breath, offering lewd gifts to him. It isn’t hard to imagine. Ignis has always been _so_ loyal, _so_ close to him, and would surely do anything he asked. Ignis is such a good boy: he does just what he’s told. In the real world, Noctis would never take advantage of that. But in his nightly fantasies, it’s too easy to pretend that Ignis’ many duties involve pleasuring his prince in _every_ way.

First, Noctis thinks of Ignis following into the hotel room. He’d set Ignis down on a chair across from the bed, and Ignis would watch this very thing—Noctis languidly stroking himself, pumping his shaft lazily up and down while his eyes trailed Ignis’ lithe body. He’d tell Ignis to pose, maybe have Ignis strip, order him to turn around and spread his cheeks, get down on all fours and offer himself up for the taking. Noctis groans loudly at the thought of Ignis bowing down, ass still held up in the air. When Noctis wraps his fist around his cock and starts really _fucking_ his own fingers, he pretends that it’s Ignis’ tight heat he’s sliding into.

Or, if he didn’t want to take advantage, he could simply ask advice. He could keep to himself on the bed, moaning and squirming as he currently is, and wait for Ignis to formulate a way to make it even better. Surely Ignis could research and find a litany of toys to improve the experience. And then Ignis would add buying Noctis’ accessories to his normal daily chores, and he’d come by at night to offer them outside Noctis’ door, blushing just as hotly as he did in real life. He’d give it all to Noctis in neatly-wrapped packages, and Noctis would fuck himself on Ignis’ choice of vibrators and plough into Ignis’ preferred fleshlights, and Ignis would listen by the door to hear his screams and gauge his appreciation. After all, that would be Ignis goal: to make and hear Noctis _scream_. Noctis tosses his head back into the pillow and cries out as he pumps faster, harder, approving every one of Ignis’ fictitious choices.

Of course, toys wouldn’t be enough forever. Eventually, Ignis would have to provide better options, _living_ options—maybe he’d see what they could work into Gladiolus’ contract, because if Gladiolus can serve as Noctis’ shield, why couldn’t he also serve as Noctis’ own personal cocksleeve? Gladiolus is just as loyal, just as faithful, and he’s all about his training—it’s all too easy to picture Ignis training him to spread his thick thighs and take Noctis right between his legs. All of Gladiolus’ rippling muscles, tight and taut and picture-perfect, are practically made to be displayed. He probably knows just how to use them. He’s a beast on the field, so he’s probably a beast in bed, and he’d howl _almost_ as loud as Noctis when Noctis came all over his chiseled abs. Noctis groans in satisfaction as he imagines painting Gladiolus in his cum, making that perfect body glisten with more than sweat and spit. Noctis would roar and _cover_ him. 

Prompto would love pictures of that. Noctis never leaves Prompto out. He’s been daydreaming about Prompto sucking him off since high school, and now that they spend all their time together, often running under the hot sun in sleeveless shirts and sweat-slicked clothes, it’s easier than ever to imagine Prompto squirming beneath him. Prompto wouldn’t be as loud as Gladiolus, though he’d whine and whimper so prettily, but he wouldn’t get much chance anyway, because Noctis would constantly be plugging up his mouth. As Noctis pummels his own hand, he thinks of Prompto’s eager smile, open wide and wet, eager to suck him down. He’d fuck Prompto’s poor throat raw, and Prompto would still drop to his knees at the snap of Noctis’ fingers. He’d look so cute with his lips glistening and swollen, his subtle freckles buried under a heavy blush. Noctis would choke him on it and make enough noises for the both of them. Noctis moans louder and arches into his own hand. Or maybe he’d use Ignis’ hand, still specially gloved, while both Gladiolus and Prompto knelt before him. 

A knock pierces through his idle daydreams, rude but very real. Noctis ignores it. He always did at home, and it’s no different here—he’s in the middle of something, or more than the middle, because he’s so _close_. He moans his way through the thought of Prompto’s skinny ass shoved up against his cock. Maybe he’d even let Gladiolus come up behind him and lick his hole out while he worked. Then Ignis would stand over them all, long, shapely cock insistently nudging Noctis' cheek. They’d be one big mess of sticky, slapping skin, the heavy reek of sex, and a cacophony of blissful moaning. But Noctis would get his pleasure first.

He cries out when he comes, bucking forward into his hand and making a mess of the borrowed sheets. His daydreams continue through his howl—he’d make sure his seed hit all of them, and then he’d watch them lick it off each other, and Ignis would take special care to make sure Noctis cock was nice and clean before tucking it lovingly away...

A knock comes louder, more persistent, and Noctis groans in annoyance. He waits until his orgasm finishes, until the hazy, boneless feeling of dizzy bliss is receding enough to move. Then he begrudgingly pushes out of bed, wiping his hand off on the mattress and doing up his pants. 

He still only cracks the door open a fraction. Ignis is standing on the other side, redder than ever. When Noctis looks at him, Ignis immediately averts his eyes, like he can’t bring himself to meet Noctis post-coital stare. 

Ignis coughs conspicuously, stalls for a brief moment, then murmurs, “Perhaps... my suggestion was not clear.” Noctis tilts his head, lost, and Ignis clears his throat and continues, “We are not within the extremely well-built walls of the palace anymore, Noct. So... I really must recommend you use it. If it isn’t to your liking, of course, I could obtain another one, or a similar device...” He just sort of trails off, while Noctis blinks, still too bleary in the afterglow to understand what’s going on.

Ignis doesn’t wait to explain anymore. He adds, “Good night,” and awkwardly retreats from the doorway.

Noctis steps back inside. As tired as he is, curiosity presses him to trail over and open up the gift box. Inside is a mass of white wax paper and a thick black strap with a red ball nestled safely in the middle. Noctis stares through the darkness, then turns to hold the box nearer to the window’s dim starlight. It still takes him a minute to realize what he’s looking at.

A ball-gag. Ignis gave him _a ball-gag_. Putting that together with Ignis’ words, and it all makes sense. The gag’s for him. Because cheap motels apparently don’t have walls as thick as the palace. And clearly, Ignis heard him.

If Noctis is that loud, enough to summon Ignis again tonight to reinforce the idea of the gag in the middle of Noctis’ session, then chances are, Ignis has heard him other times. Maybe in all the other cheap hotels they’ve stayed at and all the times Noctis _thought_ he was being subtle in the tent. It’s at least been enough for Ignis to buy him _a gag_.

All at once, Noctis’ face is burning, probably as bad as Ignis’ was. If his volume was that much of a problem, one of them should’ve said something—he could’ve just buried his face in the pillow or used his free hand to stifle the noise. But no one said anything. Maybe no one wanted to tell their prince he’s way too loud in bed.

Maybe getting a sex toy from Ignis is better anyway. Technically, that’s what it is. His dick twitches when he thinks of that. Worse when he thinks of Ignis shopping for it. Ignis thinking about it. Ignis hearing him.

Gladiolus and Prompto in another room. Trying to sleep over the sound of Noctis jerking off.

Horribly embarrassed and embarrassingly turned on, Noctis climbs back into bed. 

But before he goes again, he puts the ball-gag on.


End file.
